Competition
by Alexander Moran-Moriarty
Summary: The first time Scotland Yard was out of their depth and didn't contact the infamous consulting detective, he wished he hadn't turned up at the crime scene. Sherlock has some competition, someone who is just as good as him. SHxOC SHxJW GLxOC Includes Rape.
1. Chapter 1

**21****st**** April 2008.**

The first time Scotland Yard was out of their depth and didn't contact the infamous consulting detective, he wished he hadn't turned up at the crime scene. For what Sherlock Holmes had seen was entirely confusing, even for his great mind. He had witnessed a young female, petite and pale skinned, almost like himself, assessing the dead body that lay in a pool of blood. She was not a part of the Police; it was obvious, the way that Anderson acted around her, it was almost the same as the way he acted around Sherlock. Sherlock walked closer to the scene, hiding in the shadows of the dimly lit street.  
>"She's been dead about an hour. Judging from the scrapes on her palms and the grazing on her fingers, she dragged herself from the alley just over there," She nodded in the general direction of the dark lane-way and continued assessing, "She was stabbed with a blunt object in the back and then hit over the head, she suffered a mild concussion and aspiration before passing out and dying here." The reasonably young girl stood up and looked around, "The murderer ran from the scene, with blood on her shoes, towards the highway," She bent down and assessed a bloody footprint on the ground. "Size 9, female, judging on the arches and young, most likely in her twenties, if you look at the way that the whole shoe didn't press into the ground you can tell she is fairly light." She looked up at Lestrade, "Any identification on the body?" She asked. He pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his pocket and handed it to her, "Blaire Sparrow," She murmured to herself before opening the bag and pulling out a small diary. "Nark, that's evidence, you're getting your dirty fingers all over it." Anderson snapped. "Anderson, shut up. You're not doing anyone any favors." She announced, before snapping her head up and glaring at him, "How is your wife anyway? Being faithful?" She smirked. Sherlock had to smirk with her; he straightened himself out before stepping out of the shadows and towards the crime scene. "Who invited the freak? I thought we only agreed to Nark this time Greg." Donovan said, noticing Sherlock walking towards the police tape. "Always nice to see you too Sally. How was your night with Anderson? Pleasurable I hope." Sherlock remarked. Sally's cheeks rapidly reddened and she moved towards one of the police cars. Sherlock stepped towards Lestrade and gave him a quick smile. "What's going on?" Sherlock asked, looked around the scene, looking for something that the girl had missed, surprisingly there was nothing. "Sherlock what are you doing here? I didn't call." Lestrade demanded. Sherlock shrugged and looked at the girl who was too engrossed in the book that was found on the girl to notice that Sherlock had arrived. "Who's she?" Sherlock said, ignoring Lestrade's comment. Lestrade ignored him and walked over to Donovan and Anderson, who were arguing loudly about Sherlock's comment. "May I?" He asked the nameless girl. "Mmm? Oh sure," She said before handing him the plastic bag with the victims I.D in it. "Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes," He stated to the girl, holding out his hand in the progress. She eyed his hand before looking back at the book. "Miller Staschak" She replied, lacking enthusiasm. "Anything interesting?" He asked, attempting to make conversation, which usually wasn't his forte. "Yeah. The sister did it. Tell Lestrade for me, I have to jet." She handed him the book and started walking off. "How?" He uttered almost speechless. She laughed and turned around before handing him her card, then walking back off and getting in a waiting taxi. He watched her get inside and tell the taxi driver where to go. "Where did she go?" Lestrade commented, walking over to Sherlock. "She said the sister did it, but I'll double check. I don't really like the look of her." Lestrade laughed and took the book and evidence bag out of Sherlock's hands before replying, "No, Go homes Sherlock." Sherlock blindly obeyed and walked back to the main street, not understanding why he didn't figure it out quicker.<br>After hailing a cab he pulled Miller's card out of his jacket pocket and read it, amusement invading his emotions.

_Miller Staschak,  
>Consulting Detective.<br>548 Liverpool Street,  
>East London.<br>020 7332 6257_


	2. Chapter 2

**31****st**** September 2011.**

"There's been a murder on Liverpool Street. Are you able to come over?" Lestrade asked, through the phone. Liverpool Street. Why did that remind Sherlock of something? "Sherlock?" Lestrade inquired. "Oh, yes, I'll be there as soon as I can," The dial tone sounded on Sherlock's phone and he pressed the hang up button. "John! There's been a murder!" Sherlock yelled enthusiastically, his partner appeared, half dressed with a toothbrush in his mouth, "Just give me a minute," He muttered through his foamy mouth.

After John had spit and rinsed they were heading out towards Baker St and hailing a cab.  
>"Liverpool Street," Sherlock said to the cabbie. The cab driver nodded and pulled out from the gutter and drove off into the traffic. Soon enough they were at Liverpool Street. Sherlock paid the cabbie and got out of the taxi, John following behind. Sherlock ducked underneath the police tape and was greeted by Lestrade, "Sherlock, this is a big one, four bodies, all different causes of death. It has us pretty much stumped." Sherlock nodded, "Who's on forensics?" He inquired, while putting on his leather gloves. "Nark." The Detective Inspector voiced. Sherlock's eyebrows rose, "You invited us to the same crime scene?" He asked before pushing past Lestrade and towards the bodies.<br>"Who's Nark?" John asked. Sherlock pulled out a crumpled business card from his pocket, and handed it to John. "Consulting Detective? Like you?" Sherlock sighed and made his way towards the first body. Miller had changed a lot; her hair was cut short, most likely by herself since it was uneven and spiky, she had also dyed her hair black, and was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a red shirt with a black cardigan, nothing like the young petite girl that he had met many years ago. He had seen her since, on a few cases, but the last time would have been a year ago, she had changed dramatically.  
>Miller looked up from one of the bodies and noticed Sherlock Holmes, the 'famous' consulting detective, she stood up and pulled off her gloves before walking over to him. "Miller." Sherlock stated. Miller nodded at him, "There's two outside and two inside, this one," She started, looking over at the decapitated body, "was killed with knocked unconscious with glass bottle, hence the abrasions on the neck and shoulders, then a machete or most likely an axe was brought down on the neck. Anything you picked up?" Sherlock bent down to the body and touched the shoulders, "It wasn't a glass bottle, it was a wine glass, and the red stains on the body are red wine, not blood, most likely domestic violence gone wrong." Miller nodded, before moving towards the house and through a gate into the back yard, "Your turn." She said to him. The sight was horrendous; it even made the army doctor flinch. There was a corpse that was charred, and sitting inside of an outdoor fireplace, Sherlock watched Miller shudder at the sight, "There's not much to say, surprisingly, the victim was placed in the wood oven with their hands and feet tied and the oven was lit." Sherlock stated. Miller nodded.<p>

Miller wasn't an easy person to get to know and John had noted that, she kept quiet unless she was talking to Lestrade or Sherlock, he could tell that she wasn't an open person, she kept many secrets and it seemed that was the way it was going to stay. Sherlock was taking notes of the oven; it was a pizza oven, most likely built several years ago, the stone was still warm so that indicated that only several hours ago this person had been alive. Sherlock was interrupted by a note being thrown down at him from the top story of the house. He bent down and unwrapped the paper before flattening it out and reading it.

_One pet.  
>Two detectives.<br>Three murderers.  
>Four bodies.<br>Five chances.  
>Your first starts now.<br>Bring your heart._


	3. Chapter 3

**14****th**** December 2011.**

Miller made her way down a flight of stairs, her chest still hurting after the almost fatal gunshot wound she had received two months ago. Gregory Lestrade followed after her silently, mostly oblivious to where they were going. When they reached the bottom of the stairs Lestrade pushed Miller up against the wall before placing a chaste kiss against her lips. She smiled at him before pulling him closer with his tie.  
>The morgue in St Bart's was empty around this time of the night, and the Detective Inspector had been called to the hospital by a victim that had a blow to the head, after he had finished taking notes on the patient account with the vicious murderer that had been killing for the past few weeks, he received a text message.<p>

_Meet me in the morgue.  
>-MS<em>

He smiled to himself and made his way towards the dimly lit morgue where his girlfriend spent most of her time when she wasn't working on a case. Miller was sitting on the stairs that led down to where the murder victims were kept, she smiled at him and grabbed his hand before leading him down the stairs. Once they had reached the bottom of the stairs things had started to get heated, as the clothes came off the room temperature rose to the point when the couple were sweating profusely, as Lestrade began to screw his girlfriend in a room full of dead eyes watching them he began to become very self conscience about the place they were in. "Stop." He commanded and she looked up at him, slightly confused. "I-I can't, not in here." He stated, before pulling his shirt, boxers and pants back on, followed by his tie. Miller nodded, her short pixie-style hair, a mess. Lestrade smiled softly at her and made his way towards the staircase and started walking up them. "I'll see you later then." She called after him, his answer was silent but she knew that she would see him again soon.  
>Sherlock was working upstairs in the lab when he had heard the Detective Inspector come up the stairs; he walked over to the door and looked out of the small round window, studying him. It was obvious what he had been up to down there, but with whom? Had he been screwing the corpses'? Sherlock had certainly hoped not, though he had decided once it would have been a good experiment, he had never tried it though. After Lestrade was out of the hallway Sherlock made his way down the stairs to where the Detective Inspector had come from. The room was lightly lit and a riding crop similar to his own was lying next to a corpse on a metal table. "Hello?" Sherlock called, a shadow moved in the small kitchen that was designated with a tea pot. Sherlock walked closer to the room, holding his breath, wondering who he would find. "Freak." A voice called out to him from the room. Sherlock smirked and lent against the door frame. "Nark." Miller filled a cup full of tea before replying, "Amateur." "Psychopath." He retorted, before biting his tongue, he knew how much he disliked being called that, "So-" Sherlock started before he was cut off, "Tea?" He nodded and pulled a cup out of the cupboard above Miller's head. She filled his cup full to the brim with steaming tea, before leaning back against the counter. "How's your chest?" Sherlock asked, feeling slightly guilty, he knew the reason she was shot was mostly his fault. "Fine." She replied before taking a sip of her tea. "And the boyfriend?" She looked up at him before her eyes returned to studying the ground, "Fine." She replied, a small smile gracing her lips. "How's John?" She asked; her eyes fixating on his own, Sherlock smiled before a light pink blush painted his cheeks. "I knew it." She exclaimed, lacking the exited part. Sherlock's phone buzzed, who would be texting him at 2 o'clock in the morning?<p>

_Sender: Unknown  
>Subject:<em>

_Why don't you just tell her the truth?  
>We all know who you fancy.<br>How does Miller Holmes sound?_


	4. Chapter 4

**1****st**** October 2011.**

"Sherlock, have you seen Nark?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock shrugged and looked up at the house, "I think she went inside." Lestrade nodded before making his way towards the house. Sherlock followed behind, she probably had some new incited on one of the bodies inside. Sherlock went through a couple of rooms before running up the stairs to where Lestrade had disappeared. "Lestrade?" He called, Sherlock waiting a few moments before making his way into a few of the rooms, looking for the body or Lestrade. When he reached the fifth room he saw a sight he was not yet accustomed to. Miller was laying on the ground her hand pressing hard against her stomach and chest, Lestrade was leaning over her, trying to keep her awake. Sherlock pulled out his phone and typed quickly.

_Sender: SH  
>Recipient: John Watson<em>

_Upstairs. Now.  
>Floor 3. Room 5.<br>Bring a medical kit._

John Watson was chatting up one of the female police officers before he received a text from Sherlock. Almost immediately he made his way to the back of a police car, grabbed a first aid kit and ran towards the house. As John was running he was thinking of the sort of things Sherlock could have done to require first aid attention, at the top of the list was that he had cut his finger on paper. John rolled his eyes and reached the top of the stairs before racing into room 5. Instead of seeing Sherlock holding his cut finger, he saw Miller on the ground; blood rushing profusely from two bullet wounds on her torso, another deep abrasion was on her thigh that looked like it contained tetanus. If he wasn't fast, Miller was going to die.  
>"Lestrade, can you move away from her, and I'll try to help her." The Detective Inspector nodded before slowly moving away from her and leaning on the wall for support. "Sherlock call triple nine." Sherlock started dialling into his phone the numbers and then handed it to John.<br>"Hi, I'm at 249 Liverpool Street. I have a female in her twenties with two gunshot wounds on her torso, one on her abdominal area and the other; well it seems to be too close to her heart not to cause worry." Lestrade took in a shaky breath before running a hand through his hair. "Lestrade, how long ago did she stop breathing?" The Detective Inspector looked at John and his eyes widened, "I didn't I-I don't." He stuttered, fear overcoming him. "The patient also stopped breathing, her pulse is still there, slightly, and I don't think I can perform CPR without pushing the bullet into her heart, what do you suggest I do?" John asked the person on the other end of the phone.  
>Soon enough the ambulance arrived and Miller was taken off to hospital, still unconscious.<br>"Are you okay?" John asked Lestrade. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He replied. John nodded and made his way down the stairs, his hands coated in the young girls' blood he washed them in an outside tap.

Sherlock was still standing in the room where Lestrade had found Miller, he moved slowly around the room before looking out the window and spotting something in his peripheral vision. He walked over to the ancient book shelf and took the piece of paper that was wrapped up in a ball before opening it.

_I will burn the heart out of you._


	5. Chapter 5

**25****th**** February 2014.**

The first time Doctor John Watson received a call from Miller Staschak it was totally unexpected. Watson was locked up in room trying to ignore a mad Sherlock, who was angry over the fact that John had ruined his eye-ball experiment.

"But they were in the microwave!" John exclaimed to Sherlock who was staring in a bin. "That doesn't change anything John! The experiment was to find out how long they would last with daily heat ups." John looked slightly sick, "You heated them up in there? Oh Sherlock." He sighed. Sherlock grumbled something incoherent before storming off into the longue room and picking up his violin. That was something John couldn't handle at this moment in time.

"Hello Doctor Watson?" A voice said through the phone, a voice that John recognised but couldn't put a name to it. "Yes? Who's speaking?" He asked, hoping to put a name to the voice. "Miller Staschak." The voice replied. Oh. John thought, it was Miller. "Are you looking for Sherlock? Because if you ar-" "No, I was looking for you, do you think Sherlock would mind if I stole you for a few hours? Well, um, would you help me for few hours?" She said, slightly nervous, she mustn't really do this kind of thing, John thought. "Sure, what with?"

Twenty minutes later John was standing on a street corner, a block away from the crime scene that he and Miller were meant to be attending. He didn't know why she asked to meet here, but he didn't want to argue with another Sociopath today. "John!" A voice called from a couple of metres away. "Sorry about meeting here, I just needed to talk to you before we got there." John nodded, "Its fine. All good." She paused for a minute, "Does Sherlock know where you are?" John smiled, "He won't even know I'm gone."

"John!" Sherlock yelled. Where was he? He hadn't told Sherlock he was going out. "John!" He yelled again before noticing a flimsy piece of paper on the kitchen table.

_Gone out for a bit.  
>Don't ask with whom.<br>Better yet don't ask questions.  
>And don't blow up the kitchen again.<em>

_-John_

Sherlock cursed and sighed before going back to his arm chair and wrapping his dressing gown around his legs. He pulled out John revolver from the side of the couch and lined it up with the smiley face that was still on the wall, before shooting.  
>"Bored." He muttered.<p>

John knew he shouldn't leave Sherlock home for a long amount of time without checking on him. He sighed and pulled out his phone before dialling Sherlock's number.  
>"John!" A happy Sherlock exclaimed. "Wait." He said, suspicion creeping into his voice, "Are you checking up on me?" "No Sherlock," he lied smoothly. Sherlock made a noise that probably meant he was agreeing. "I'll be home soon. Can you get some milk?" "You know with the way she's laying, she didn't fall. She was put here." Sherlock heard a voice say in the background. "John why are you with Miller?" John panicked before hanging up and turning his phone off before putting it in his pocket. "Everything okay?" Miller asked, looking up at the Doctor. The Doctor smiled at her before nodding, Miller smiled back, knowing that Sherlock didn't know where John was, but she didn't push the subject, "Can you take a look?" She inquired. John nodded and assessed the body. All John had to do was take one look and he could tell that the victim had died of an overdose, most likely on Heroin or GHB. "Drug overdose, died about four hours ago, judging by the wetness on the collar it was a liquid form of GHB." Miller looked surprised, "You really spend way too much time around Sherlock you know." John smirked before standing up and stepping away from the body. "I just took the fun out of finding out what drug it was, didn't I?" Miller rolled her eyes before making her way over to Lestrade, "Your looking for a male in his mid-thirties, Caucasian wearing a red shirt, I doubt that he would have ditched the clothes yet, he got away in a TAXI, meaning he either stole it, or a friend was helping out a friend." Lestrade nodded and pulled out a notepad before coping down what she was saying.<p>

A few minutes later Miller and John were sitting in a small tea house, making small talk. "How can you switch it off?" John asked, taking another sip of his tea. Miller removed the cup from her mouth and shrugged, "I don't mix work with reality." It took John a moment before comprehending what she was saying, "So Sherlock could turn it off too?" Miller scoffed before running a hand through her recently died red hair, "Possibly, but I doubt he would, he enjoys it too much." "Don't you enjoy it?" John inquired, Miller nodded, "Hell yes. But it's hard to see the mundane things when your mind is clouded with the mechanics of things." John nodded before pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket.

_I need you.  
>-SH<em>

John sighed, "I'm afraid I have to go." Miller nods and takes another sip of her tea. John stands up and goes to pull his wallet out, "I can pay." Miller stated. Watson shakes his head and pulls out a few quid from his pocket, "Really, I can pay." Miller went up to the counter and placed 5 quid on the counter, "You didn't have to do that." John stated, Miller smirked, "You didn't have to help me." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her blackberry before opening the new text message she had just received.

_Tick Tok Goes The Clock.  
>What will happen to the Doctor?<em>

Miller whipped her head around before running outside, "John?" She called. Panic overwhelmed her. Sherlock was going to kill her._  
><em> 


	6. Chapter 6

**April 19****th**** 2014**

Doctor John Watson was awoken by a loud whistling noise and the sound of some kind of drum beat. It took him a few moments before he realized he was tied to a chair and in a basement where he had been living for the past few two-and-a-half months. The noise that had taken him out of his dreamless sleep was music.

_If you knew my story word for word,  
>Battle of my History,<br>Would you go around with someone like me._

John drifted off to the music before he was rudely interrupted by Sebastian Moran, a cane came down on his back and John screamed in pain. "Oh Seb! I think that's enough, now behave, we have a visitor." John barley comprehended the word visitor; everything around him seemed to be fuzzy and frizzled around the edges. Though what John Watson saw clearly was a young girl who was thrown on the pavement, her head seeping blood and her long red hair, turning a shade darker due to the amount of blood she had lost, he wasn't sure if it was life-threatening because of the fact that head wounds always bleed a lot. He was shocked when Moran kicked the girl in the stomach and she rolled over showing her face. Miller. John struggled against the ropes on his wrists and ankles, desperate to get free and help her. "Oh poor Johnny boy, trying to help the girl his best friend is desperately in love with." John continued struggling against the bonds; finally one of his wrists got free and used his free hand to undo his ankles, which were tied to the chair legs. John got free and stumbled to his feet, his legs giving way underneath him, making him crawl to Miller. He pulled her head into her lap and brushed away her hair which was mattered to her head with blood.

An hour later, after John had cleaned up Miller's forehead without the use of medical instruments, her eyes slowly fluttered open, she went to sit up but John pushed her back down, "Don't move. You have a head injury." Miller nodded and closed her eyes again, John stroked her encrusted hair and lent back against the wall. "John?" Miller asked her voice croaky but still sounded beautiful. Maybe John was missing civilisation, or maybe he was developing feelings towards the young female detective. "Mm?" He replied, letting his eyes close. "I'm sorry." John sighed and smiled softly, "Don't worry about it."

_April 19__th__ 2014 12:09pm_  
>Sherlock was at Scotland Yard awaiting a call from Mycroft. Finally his phone buzzed.<br>"What?" Sherlock asked into the phone, Mycroft chuckled before replying "Miller has disappeared" Sherlock bit his lip and replied into the phone, "Where?" "221 Baker St." Mycroft stated. Sherlock pulled his coat and scarf on before hanging up the phone and raced out of Scotland Yard before receiving a text message.

_Sender: John Watson  
>Sent: April 19<em>_th__ 12:13pm  
>Subject: RE:<em>

_48 Middlesex Rd._

Sherlock panicked before hailing a cab and jumping in it. His phone buzzed again.

_Sender: Miller Staschak  
>Sent: April 19<em>_th__ 5:48am  
>Subject:<em>

_Sherlock, Help me._


	7. Chapter 7

_**30/01/15  
>London, England.<strong>_

When I first met Mycroft Holmes the first thing he had told me was that I was wasting my time. There was only one woman for Sherlock and it wasn't me. I was too much like him, apparently.

The second thing he said to me was there wasn't enough space in this world for two consulting detectives. On that note I strongly disagreed. In a world of many billions of people, with many countries and islands, there was just enough room for two. That's when he offered to pay for my plane ticket to Antartica. I hastily turned it down. There was no way I would be leaving the country I had grown to love in such a short time. There were many things about the country I had learnt to love. Such as Scotland Yard, and the Detective Inspector. I had also come to love 221B and its inhabitants. It gave me such pleasure to be able to look Mycroft in the eyes and tell him he was wrong. Miss Irene Adler had been just a stage, you see. Well that's what I liked to hope. Since the relationship between Sherlock and I had truly blossomed.

Though I won't bore you with the details of our private life I can very much say that I was in love with Sherlock. As much as it astounded John when he walked into Sherlock's room one morning and found us both in a bed, my past lover had been slightly happier than I had expected. Lestrade on the other hand was truly shocked. His face went pale white when Sherlock and I were reported together in public.

As much as I'd love to continue with the stories of our happiness. I must say that all good things come to an end.

I can still clearly remember the day when Lestrade knocked on my door. I remember thinking, "Oh he needs help with another case." That was until I noticed that he had been crying. His eyes were bloodshot; the skin around them was puffy and red. That's when it hit me.

Oh Sherlock.

Before he could open his mouth a tear had already started making its way down my face.

"How?" I asked.

"He jumped." Replied Lestrade.

That's when I broke. Something had shattered inside of me and left me bleeding.

~SH~

_**One Week Later**_

_**Sherlock's Funeral.**_

* * *

><p><em>"Sherlock was a man that will be missed by many that he helped.<br>Not many people knew him the way I knew him.  
>I knew a side of him that no one saw.<br>I…I miss our jokes. The ones that would make me laugh, the ones no one else got.  
>I miss working with you. Because only then I could truly believe I wasn't the smartest one in the room.<br>As much as it pains me to admit, I miss your fake smiles the ones you would put on when everyone was watching.  
>You know Sherlock; I could have taught you so much. I could have taught you how to be human.<br>But right now, are your tantrums, your smiles, even your blue dressing gown.  
>Your frustration, your boundless energy. Your brilliance.<br>God Sherlock I need everything that made you, you.  
>Because right now I don't know how I can cope.<br>I need you.  
>Because not only were you my colleague, you were my friend.<br>But most of all you were the man I__ am in love with.  
>You were my Sherlock and you were one of a kind.<br>Truly the world's only consulting detective.  
>I love you Mr. Sherlock Holmes.<br>And I always will."_


End file.
